Pythian Games

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Archive for January 2010

Cravings of a Kraken

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This is a flash fiction piece that I wrote. Every Friday is #flashfriday on twitter & I started participating to force myself  into the habit of  writing every week. It’s challenging to write a story of 1000 words or less but also fun. It forces you to pick words carefully & throw out junk. I thought I would post it here as well:

With a growl of frustration Cupid paced the room. Bored out of his mind & it wasn’t for the lack of trying. He’d even implied to his mother that Hera had called her plump; she’d merely laughed & continued to flirt with her newest conquest.

“Bored, bored, bored!” he stomped about the room in a tizzy; he threw a stack of papers from his desk & watched them flutter to ground. Flopping into the chaise, he sighed dramatically.  From the corner his eye, he spotted what looked like a fish.  “Hello, what’s this?” as he walked across the room. Indeed it was a fish, a trout more specifically, with a scrawled note pinned to the head.

He prodded & sniffed the fish, it seemed fresh. “Let me see about this note,” ripping it off.  Scanning the first few lines, he danced in the air while laughing.

***

The note sent was by a kraken, not just any kraken but Poseidon’s.  When the sea-god grew bored or desired a new female conquest, he’d send word to the oracle that a “sacrifice” was required or impending doom would be implied.

Hence, a nubile maiden would be tied, left upon the shore; Damon, the kraken, would swim up, squawk, splash around and “eat” her. In reality, he carted her off safely to Poseidon. This racket had been going on for years without a hitch.

Damon hadn’t asked for anything in return, it never occurred to him. Until one day, he desired to settle down, woo a female and have wee krakens. This was when he’d made a terrible discovery- he wasn’t considered a desirable mate. Too small- that was what they’d all said.

When the last female had wriggled her tentacles in laughter and swam off, he hunted down the best catch he could find and attached the note.  Summing it up, it read something like this;

Cupid,

I’m lonely. I need a mate but I’m too small. I’d like a maiden. Not to eat. For love. Please help me.

Sincerely,

Damon (A kraken)

(I found a fish, the best one. Please accept, thank you. Oh, please don’t tell my master, he’d be mad.)

***

Kore couldn’t believe her luck. “Why me?” she wondered. She was a good citizen, obeyed her father and even had agreed to marry Midas, in spite of his old age, happy hands and obsession with gold.

As the tide moved in, she imagined throttling the oracle. “Stupid oracle, stupid curse, stupid monster!”  Trying to loosen the bonds, without luck, she kicked the sand and screamed.

Swimming closer, Damon could see and hear her. “Oh my, where did she learn those words?” he wondered.  She was, pretty, for a human he supposed. Something was different about her, he pondered and continued closer.

With the kraken approaching, Kore racked her brain for a plan. Nothing. Well, if she was on the menu, she’d at least put up a fight. “Bring it on,” she thought.

As he was wrapping his tentacles around her, she bit him. Damon screeched in pain. No one had fought back before and in surprise, released her.

The two, woman and beast, looked intently at each other. Kore didn’t want eaten and Damon couldn’t return to his master without her. An old woman hobbled towards them, cackling.

“Greetings, from Cupid,” she rasped and remembering the past week, smiled a toothy leer. From his perch in Mt. Olympus, Cupid shuddered; he remembered the week all too well.  Who knew the old woman would have such stamina?

Reaching into her robes, she proffered a vile of bubbling liquid.  Handing it to Kore, she shuffled away before any questions could be asked. Free from her bonds, Kore tossed the bubbling liquid at Damon. Writhing, he began to transform.

***

Standing before her, Damon.  Although considered small as a kraken, as a man he was a giant.  Curious tattoos covered his body, where tentacles had previously been. Suddenly shy, Kore approached, poked him and stepped back.

Damon was still figuring out the new sensations of being human. He wiggled his toes; fingers and when the female touched him, a strange emotion stirred him.  Uncertain, he reached forward and touched her hair.

Kore shivered when his fingers brushed against her face. Wanting to feel repulsed, instead she blushed at the thoughts that formed in her mind. It didn’t help that his nude form illuminated in the moonlight.  As she tried to cast these thoughts aside, Cupid decided this was an opportune moment to launch an arrow. Not of love, rather a suggestion.

“Oh,” she exclaimed as the arrow struck her. Just at that moment, Damon fell forward on awkward legs and they both tumbled to the ground. Bosom heaving, Kore pulled Damon closer for a kiss.

***

Cupid fell out of his chair laughing as he heard Poseidon storm the halls. “Zeus!” the sea-god bellowed.  Pandemonium swept throughout Mt. Olympus as the brothers began to shout. “At last,” thought Cupid, ‘some excitement.”

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Written by katirra

January 30, 2010 at 6:36 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

I’ll miss Peter Pan

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Mr. Philip David Palmer. Navigator. Beach Trader.  Marine Engineer. Storyteller extraordinaire. 3rd generation immigrant. Friend. Father. Husband. Grandfather…

I heard on SIBC at 145pm, Phil has passed away.

I am uncharacteristically at a loss for words. We have all known that Phil was very ill. A combination of emphysema, numerous cancers, a lifetime of hard living is to blame. I am guessing Phil’s age to about 67 or 68.  I will find out in due course.

For us mortals, the death of a close friend and compatriot is hard. It is even harder when it’s a bloke like Phil…

I have referred to Phil as “Peter Pan” more than once. The entire line is… The Solomon Islands is Never Never Land. You go there and you never grow up. And, of course, Phil Palmer was and remains Peter Pan.

I think of Phil at his funniest… a Cmas party we had on the Gizo depot wharf in about 1998. We had roasted a pig and set up a diving board on the wharf. We had presents for the kids, food for the masses and grog for the likes of Phil and I.

As happens we ended up in a frenzy of everyone throwing everyone in the water. At one point I recall my wife Grace, her sister, Maisy, and a friend, Rachel, getting a hold on Phil and carrying him to the edge and tossing him in. All the while the three women had Phil wrapped up he had a cigarette in his mouth. He playfully puffed away as they tossed him in. He went under the water and, when he surfaced, he still had a dry cigarette burning away.

Of course Phil had done the old “turn the cig around with your tongue” trick. He was an adept at this.

The result was hilarious at the time. Everyone was either impressed, confused or simply frightened (magic blo white man, ia).

Never Never Land will never never be the same without Phil.

http://nativeiowan.wordpress.com/

Written by nativeiowan

January 29, 2010 at 8:17 am

Posted in Uncategorized

Nubian Song

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Ancient voices in the silent night.
A desert wind.
The rocks are singing
of a people gone.
Mild-eyed cattle wander on
by a quiet waterway.
Faded gods,
eyes that saw a snake within a mountain.
A flash of crimson in an oasis of green.
Ancient voices in the silent night.
A desert wind.
The rocks are singing in the wilderness.

Written by R Harris

January 16, 2010 at 6:03 pm

Posted in Uncategorized